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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798388">The Matador</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwingGirlAtHeart/pseuds/SwingGirlAtHeart'>SwingGirlAtHeart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Background Hunting, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Panic Attack, Upset Castiel (Supernatural)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:15:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwingGirlAtHeart/pseuds/SwingGirlAtHeart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to give up his grace.  And the Empty tore it from him and destroyed it without concern, but that shouldn’t matter.  It shouldn’t, because Cas would have chosen to give it up anyways if it meant being here, on Earth, with Dean.  Really, the Empty did him a favor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Matador</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from Amelia Curran's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36_-l55f75I&amp;ab_channel=AmeliaCurran-Topic">song of the same name</a>, which inspired this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a small thing in the beginning.  Dean is making dinner, slicing tomatoes for a burger topping, and the knife slips.  At the sound of Dean hissing in pain, Cas looks over from where he’s setting out plates on the counter and sees blood drip onto the cutting board under Dean’s hand.  It’s a little cut requiring no more than a Band-Aid, but Cas doesn’t even think before he reaches over, his fingers splayed over Dean’s hand in a gesture that’s pure instinct.</p><p>Dean gives him a strange look.  “What are you doing?”</p><p>Cas blinks and takes his hand back.  He stares at his palm, plain and graceless and unremarkable.  “I, uh,” he stammers.  “I forgot.”</p><p>Dean presses a paper towel to the cut on his thumb.  “It’s not that bad, Cas.  You don’t have to heal me.”  He’s watching Cas with worry knotting his brow. </p><p>Abruptly Cas has to fight the urge to snap that it doesn’t <em> matter </em> whether he needs to heal Dean or not; the fact is that he <em> can’t</em>.  He swallows the irritation surging up from some unseen base, the tension plastering his shoulders.  His fingers curl, fist clenching for a moment before he drops his arm and returns to the menial task of setting the table.  He can feel Dean’s eyes following him.</p><p>A day later, Cas smacks his funny bone off the corner of the dresser in Dean’s room and spits a tangled string of swears onto the floor.  Dean, who’s just tugging on his boots for the day, stares at him slack-jawed.</p><p>“Well, damn, Cas,” Dean remarks as Cas frustratedly shakes the painful tingle out of his elbow.  “You kiss your mom with that mouth?”</p><p>It’s a hollow jest – any humor in Dean’s voice is overshadowed by concern.  Cas knows the joke is Dean’s way of asking if he’s okay without pressing.</p><p>Cas winces, his fingers still tingling as he flexes his hand.  “That really hurt,” he says, more irritated than anything else.  He huffs and finishes putting on his shirt.  The inconvenience is both minor and temporary, and there’s no reason to get so upset over it.  He doesn’t wait for Dean to finish getting dressed and instead stalks to the kitchen in search of caffeine.</p><p>He’s not hungry.  He turns down breakfast and sips on his coffee and ignores the weird look Sam’s giving him.  When Dean comes in a few minutes later, Cas can’t seem to find the energy to listen in while Sam informs them of the newest possible case he’s found.  He keeps his nose in his mug, breathing in the steam and trying to shake this feeling of unfounded annoyance.</p><p>Is this supposed to be normal for humans, he wonders, to just be in a shitty mood for absolutely no logical reason?  Because it’s <em> not </em> logical, and he knows that.  He wanted to give up his grace.  And the Empty tore it from him and destroyed it without concern, but that shouldn’t matter.  It shouldn’t, because Cas would have chosen to give it up anyways if it meant being here, on Earth, with Dean.  Really, the Empty did him a favor.</p><p>“Cas.”</p><p>Cas blinks, looking up.  Sam and Dean are both staring at him.  Sam’s eyebrows are raised in a silent <em> Weren’t you listening? </em>  Dean’s just quietly frowning at Cas from the seat to his right, like he’s trying to decipher some kind of code.</p><p>Cas clears his throat and sets his cup on the table.  “Yes.  Sorry.  You were saying?”</p><p>Sam glances between Cas and Dean for a half-second, then repeats the details of the potential case.</p><p>Eileen strides into the kitchen as Sam is talking and plops down next to him, immediately reaching over to steal a grape from his plate.  Her hair is still wet from the shower and she’s bright-eyed and fully awake, having already been up for ages so she could go running with Sam.  It’s too much energy for Cas right now, and he has to consciously remind himself that his bad mood has nothing to do with her.</p><p>“So what’s up?” she says by way of greeting, reaching for another piece of fruit from Sam’s plate.</p><p>“Case in El Paso,” Sam says, handing her his iPad so she can read the relevant article.  “Vetalas, I think.”</p><p>“Ooh, fun,” she coos through a mouthful of cantaloupe.  She skims the headline and hands the tablet back to him.  “I’m game.”</p><p>Under the table, Dean nudges Cas’s leg with his knee.</p><p>They take two cars, and Cas is grateful.  Sam and Eileen take the Valiant and lead the way, letting Dean and Cas follow in the Impala.  Dean doesn’t mind a drive lacking in conversation, provided there’s music, but he does look at Cas a bit strangely when he turns the volume up on the Bob Seger tape before Dean has a chance to do the same.</p><p>“You okay, man?” Dean asks.</p><p>Cas watches the trees streak by in a blur.  “Fine.”</p><p>“All right,” Dean says, but his tone disagrees.  It’s not all right, Dean knows something is up, and they’re going to talk about this later.</p><p>The hunt for the vetalas is par for the course.  The victims are all from University of Texas fraternities, and so they hone in on a sorority house outside of the UTEP campus.  They suspect the vetalas are the queen bees of the Kappa-Delta-Psi chapter, the loudest and pinkest and richest girls in the house.  </p><p>They’re only half right – one of them has fangs, the other is just a girl with a trust fund and a bitchy attitude.  And after they’ve killed the first, when Cas tries to corner the other outside of a bar after she spends the evening partying, the second vetala swoops in from behind him and knocks him into the brick wall, sinking her teeth into his neck.  The trust fund girl screams at the top of her lungs and runs as fast as is humanly possible while wearing six-inch stilettos.</p><p>“<em>CAS!</em>” Dean shouts as he leaps out of his hiding place further down the alley.</p><p>The second vetala is an older woman – a professor at the University and a former Kappa-Delta-Psi.  She whirls on Dean when Cas hits the ground, eyes flashing blue and fangs glistening in the light of the blinking bar sign.</p><p>“HEY!” Sam shouts, approaching from the opposite direction with Eileen and forcing the vetala’s attention away from Dean.  Instantly, she lunges for Sam.</p><p>Dean drops to his knees next to Cas and pulls him back up to sit braced against the wall.  “Cas.  Cas!  You still with me?”</p><p>Cas huffs, wiping blood from his collarbone  He feels a little dizzy and his neck is stinging, but it’s nothing that would land him in the hospital.  Dean yanks a bandana from his pocket and presses it to the wound, his other hand gripping Cas’s shoulder.</p><p>“I can do it, Dean,” Cas says snippily.  He takes the bandana from Dean and leaves no room for protest.</p><p>Dean’s jaw twitches, an argument hanging in the back of his throat.</p><p>The vetala shrieks as Sam finally wrestles her to the ground and Eileen darts in for the kill, silver knife finding its mark.  The body goes slack and begins to crumble, wasting away into the sidewalk.</p><p>“Cas, you okay?” calls Sam.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Good.”  Sam takes his response at face value.  He and Eileen set about discarding what’s left of the vetala’s corpse in the nearest dumpster.</p><p>Dean peers more closely at Cas’s still-bleeding neck.  “Cas, you might need stitches.  We should get you to a hospital.”</p><p>“I’m not going to a hospital,” Cas dismisses him as he heaves himself to his feet.</p><p>Dean follows him to standing height, not quick to back down from his concern.  “Well, okay, but at least let me sew it up.  It looks deep.”</p><p>“I am <em> fine</em>, Dean.  Quit it,” Cas spits with a glare, and even as he says it he immediately regrets it.</p><p>Dean blinks in shock at Cas’s tone, his mouth pressing into a thin line for half a second.  He exhales, then says, lowly, “Get in the car,” and leaves to help Sam and Eileen with the corpse disposal.</p><p>The fourteen-hour drive home to Lebanon is quiet, this time uncomfortably so.  Dean doesn’t turn on his music and Cas sulks, knowing his bad attitude is poisoning the air, infecting Dean, and decides he’ll probably sleep in his own room when they get home.  It’ll be a good idea to sequester himself away where he can’t snap at anybody for a little while.</p><p>When they stop for a gas and bathroom break in Hooker, Oklahoma, Dean doesn’t make any jokes about the town name.  He just turns off the Impala’s engine in the Love’s Truck Stop parking lot and asks if Cas wants anything from the mini mart.</p><p>Cas shakes his head, though he should probably eat something.  Dean gets out of the car.</p><p>“Dean?” Cas blurts before Dean can walk away.</p><p>“Yeah.”  He stops and leans back through the driver’s side window.</p><p>“I’m – I’m sorry.”</p><p>Dean studies him for a moment, then nods and says, “Okay.  You sure you don’t want a snack or something?”</p><p>They reach the bunker shortly after dawn, and Cas doesn’t know if it’s the hunt, the long and sleepless drive, or the blood loss, but he’s exhausted.  Sam and Eileen are still an hour or two behind them, having stopped more frequently to trade shifts driving, so Dean calls dibs on the shower and heads to his room to unpack.</p><p>Cas goes to his own bedroom and shuts the door.</p><p>He drops his duffel on the foot of his bed and goes to the sink.  His reflection greets him sullenly, worn-down and rumpled from a lack of sleep.  He looks <em> awful</em>.  Bags under his eyes, hair barely combed, posture terrible.  </p><p>He winces and peels the bandage away from the wound on his neck.  Dean insisted on at least putting some gauze and tape on it before they left El Paso, and Cas is glad he did.  The wound already looks a little bit better, if only because it’s been cleaned.  He prods at it gently, and thinks Dean might have been overreacting with the whole needing-stitches thing.</p><p>But it’s still deep, and it still hurts, and it’s going to leave a scar.</p><p>He thinks of all the injuries, all the cuts and stabs and shots and slices and <em> deaths </em> he’s been through before, and none of them had left a mark on his body.  And this one stupid, <em> stupid </em> little bite is going to scar.</p><p>It’s above the line of his collar, too, so he can’t even really hide it.  Every time he looks in the mirror, the scar will be there.  Nothing he can do will get rid of it.</p><p>There’s a single, lonely gray hair poking from his temple.  There are creases in the corners of his eyes.  A slight sagging to his cheeks.  Were those always there?  Did he just not see them because he was too far above the humanity of his own vessel to notice them?  Or, now that he’s free of grace, is his age catching up with him in fast-forward?</p><p>He’s going to die.  He’s going to die <em> soon</em>.</p><p>Cas leans on the sink and gasps for breath.</p><p>They have, what, another forty years?  If they’re lucky?  The eons of Castiel’s life that stretch behind him are fragmenting in his head, memories falling out of his human-capacity brain like files deleting from a hard drive.  The forty-if-they’re-lucky years ahead of him seem like a drop in the ocean, a blink of an eye, and suddenly death is right around the bend, lurking in the corner of his bedroom.  He grips the sides of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror and repeating under his breath, <em> I wanted this, I wanted this, I want this. </em></p><p>Immortality laps at the edges of his mind, inescapable and inaccessible.</p><p>He can’t breathe.  Is this what a heart attack feels like?  Is he old enough to have a heart attack?</p><p>What is wrong with him?</p><p>His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost doesn’t hear Dean come in.  The door opens and Dean leans in and Cas flinches, embarrassment shooting up his spine.</p><p>“Cas, what are— Whoa, whoa,” Dean cuts his own question off and quickly crosses the floor to the sink.  “Hey.”</p><p>Cas reflexively backs up a step, which makes Dean pause, palms up like he thinks Cas might explode.  He’s fresh from the shower, his clean t-shirt damp around the collar, smelling like soap and warmth and <em> home </em> and Cas can barely look at him.</p><p>Dean looks him up and down, halfway terrified, and Cas abruptly wants to fucking <em> cry.</em></p><p>“What’s going on, Cas?”</p><p>Cas shakes his head, lungs trembling in an exhale.  “I can’t—” he starts, and chokes.</p><p>“Cas, you’ve been spun out for <em> days</em>,” Dean says, his voice taking on a hard edge.  “I’m done waiting.  Talk to me.”</p><p>He can’t talk.  He can’t talk, he can’t breathe, he can’t even look Dean in the fucking eye.</p><p>Dean softens again, steps forward.  “Okay,” he says, pulling Cas solidly into his arms.  “Okay.”</p><p>They stand like that for a while, Cas folded against Dean’s chest and Dean’s hand on the back of his head.  They stand like that until Cas has stopped shaking.  Dean’s palm rubs his shoulder blade for a second.  “You’re exhausted,” he says into Cas’s ear, and he’s not wrong.  “Come to bed.”</p><p>By now, the sun is up outside the bunker.  Cas’s circadian rhythm is whining that he should be beginning his day, getting coffee, getting breakfast.  But his eyelids are heavy and he didn’t sleep a wink during the drive back from Texas, and he needs to get used to doing what his body tells him to do.  That’s the human way, isn’t it?  To need things?</p><p>Dean bullies him down the hall to his own room, bullies him into changing into a clean shirt to sleep in, bullies him into bed.  Cas has been human for a few months now but he still hasn’t quite made his bedroom his own, so they spend most of their nights in Dean’s room where it’s more welcoming, more lived-in.  In Dean’s bed, it’s warmer than it would be in Cas’s.  Certainly warmer than sleeping alone.</p><p>Dean slides in behind him, letting Cas settle before cinching his arm around Cas’s middle.  Finally Cas can feel his body relaxing, muscles uncoiling, tension seeping into the mattress and disappearing.  He stares at the crack of light underneath Dean’s bedroom door, pulls the blanket up over his shoulder, and focuses on Dean’s solid grip.</p><p>“You want to tell me what that panic attack was about?” Dean murmurs into the back of Cas’s neck.</p><p>Cas’s head shifts slightly on the pillow.  “Is that what that was?”</p><p>“I think so,” Dean replies.  “I mean, I’m pretty sure.  I’ve had enough of ‘em myself.”</p><p>Cas mulls this over.  A panic attack.  He wonders how normal that is for humans.  “I can’t heal myself,” he confesses, the scab on his neck prickling.</p><p>Dean’s thumb brushes along one of Cas’s lower ribs, breath in Cas’s hair.  “Yeah.”</p><p>“I can’t – I can’t heal you, I can’t help you sleep, I— I’m barely useful on hunts—”  The words spill from Cas’s mouth and over the edge of the bed, clattering and scattering on the floor like marbles.</p><p>Dean’s arm tightens around him.  “Is that what this is about?” he asks.  “You losing your wings?”</p><p>Cas presses his mouth shut, staring at the crack of light beneath the door.  <em> I wanted this.  I want this. </em></p><p>“Listen, I… I’m not going to pretend I get what it is to lose that kind of power,” Dean says.  “I don’t.  And I know all these stupid little things humans have to put up with – I know it’s all new and it’s all a pain in the ass.  But I think you’re not looking clearly at what’s going on.”</p><p>Cas frowns in the dark, confused.</p><p>“If you think all this is—”  Dean’s arms squeeze again, reassuringly around Cas’s torso.  “—is just based on what you can <em> do </em> for me, then you’re blind.  I’m sorry, but you’re fucking blind.”</p><p>He presses a kiss to the back of Cas’s neck, and something gold and granted unfurls inside Cas’s chest.  Dean is rarely one to initiate this much physical contact, even in private, but it’s helping Cas to ground, to feel more connected to the world underneath him.</p><p>“It’s not about you,” Cas says softly, running his fingers along Dean’s forearm.  “Not really.”</p><p>He feels Dean nod behind him, lips grazing the vertebrae between Cas’s shoulders.  “Did it hurt?”</p><p>Cas nearly snorts at that.  <em> Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? </em>   <em> When you had your wings ripped from your spine?  When your grace was torn from every cell in your body?  When it left you screaming and empty and reeling? </em></p><p>“Yes,” he says instead.</p><p>Dean nestles up to the place where Cas’s wings used to be, covering up the unseen scars with his own body.  It’s all he can do, really.  This pain, this loss… it’s right, and it’s what should have happened.  But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.</p><p><em> I wanted this</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I want this. </em>
</p><p>“I know you don’t need me to do things for you,” Cas breathes, his fingers intertwining with Dean’s against his belly.  “But…”  He trails off, a slight shake of the head.  He’s not sure how to put it into words.  “I don’t know.  It’s about me.”</p><p>
  <em> Doing things for you makes me powerful.  Healing you makes me powerful.  And my power’s gone, and I’m not sure how much of me is me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is what I wanted. </em>
</p><p>“Cas,” Dean says.  “C’mere.”</p><p>Cas lets out a long breath and twists, rolling until he’s on his other side, facing Dean.  It’s too dark to fully see Dean’s features – he can just barely make out the sharp contour of Dean’s cheek – but Dean’s hand plays at his hip and pulls him closer.</p><p>“Listen to me carefully.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“I’m sleeping better than I have since I was a kid,” Dean says, his voice as physically tangible as anything else about him in this moment.  “Better than I ever have.  And that has absolutely nothing to do with your grace.  So if you think you’re not helping, I don’t know what to tell you.”</p><p>The golden unfurling thing in Cas’s chest blooms even further, brightening inside his ribs until he’s sure his eyes are glowing again.  He reaches up and pulls Dean in for a crushing kiss, stubble grazing his palm along the curve of Dean’s jaw.  It’s a little desperate and a lot clumsy, their noses bumping in the dark, but when Dean breaks for air he laughs and nudges Cas’s forehead with his own.</p><p>An idea occurs to Cas then, sparking in the back of his head.  In an all-too-familiar gesture, he lifts his hand and touches two fingers to Dean’s forehead.</p><p>“What—” Dean starts.</p><p>Cas drags the fingers gently, slowly tracing a path from Dean’s hairline down to the bridge of his nose.  He lifts his fingers and does it again, and again.  </p><p>Dean’s eyelids slip closed.  A soft “Mm” sound comes up from his chest, his body sinking into the mattress.</p><p>“Does that feel good?” Cas whispers, his touch drifting along the arch of Dean’s eyebrows – first one, then the other.</p><p>Dean takes a second to respond.  “Hell yeah.  Better’n the old way.”  His voice is already sluggish, the fatigue of the day rapidly catching up to him.  </p><p>Cas’s thumb leaves a gentle streak beneath Dean’s eye, and he smiles.  Maybe it’s not as quick or reliable as the angelic power of knocking someone out, but this he can get used to.  A moment later, Dean is snoring.</p><p>Living without his wings and grace, without the powers he’s had since the beginning of the Earth and without the certainty of his own permanence, is <em> hard</em>.  The size of his old self, his old life, never seemed quite like it could fit inside the bunker, or inside any human home, no matter how much he wanted it.</p><p>But now he fits.  He’s home.  And maybe when they wake up, forty-if-they’re-lucky years won’t seem like such a short time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is tied in to my other works: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538978/chapters/67350193">Hell Or High Water</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30501921/chapters/75221271">Mystery Of The Quotient</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718456">Candlelight</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29732769">Unchained Reaction</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945412">Pie Crust</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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